


ilyt

by heliianth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Texting, the hurt/comfort is minimal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliianth/pseuds/heliianth
Summary: Sometimes he wonders if what they have is real. Harley Keener and Peter Parker, that is.Sometimes it feels so surreal that he can’t describe it, and things that he can’t describe scare him so much that he’d rather hide from them. He can’t put into words how he feels, because sometimes it feels dumb and he doesn’t want to admit that.It feels dumb because they’re young and reckless and most things that come from two young and reckless people don’t last.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Kudos: 33





	ilyt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simpapilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpapilla/gifts).



> today is the one year anniversary of me and my gfs dumb crack relationship and i put my emotions into fic because i, myself, am dumb and probably on crack. and then i thought y'all might enjoy it.
> 
> she gave me permission to post! thank u b c:

S ometimes he wonders if what they have is real.  Harley Keener and  Peter Parker , that is. 

Sometimes it feels so surreal that he can’t describe it, and things that he can’t describe scare him so much that he’d rather hide from them. He can’t put into words how he feels, because sometimes it feels dumb and he doesn’t want to admit that.

It feels dumb because they’re young and reckless and most things that come from two young and reckless people don’t last. Windows break, plates shatter, electronics crack and glitch. Nothing is permanent right now. It’s a stage of metamorphosis, they’re in a little chrysalis of safety where they’re not quite ready to go out into the real world but they’re also all too eager to get into it. If they try to fly now, overzealous that they are, they’ll just crash and fall because caterpillars don’t have beautiful wings quite yet. 

It feels dumb because every movie says the first revelation should be passionate and bright like a star, a giant one, but  Harley ’s not dumb and he knows the biggest stars are the ones that die the fastest. There’s too many things to burn and not enough time so they die as blindingly as they are born. Those kinds of relationships might be a healthy part of growing up, might be something everyone goes through, might be something he sees people go through with his own eyes, but he doesn’t  _ want _ it. He’s too scared of reaching out and getting hurt to brush that star’s death off afterwards. 

No movie parallels how he tells  Peter Parke r he likes him in a juvenile, shy way that feels so much like two kindergarteners playing husbands on the playground, and  Peter Parker tells him he likes him back in a manner that’s equally as hesitant and cautious. They’re both scared, but they know that about each other. They know that because it took MJ forcing them into a chatroom together and interrogating them to admit feelings that they were too embarrassed to tell each other, even if they knew somewhere inside that they were reciprocated. 

And it started out dumb, too. A joke, though to him it felt like anything but. Jokes don't make your heart beat fast and fingers shiver. Nothing could really come close to the relief that flooded him when everything settled. The nervousness wasn’t quite comparable to a storm, it wasn’t devastating and unbearable, but the clarity that came with being  _ liked back  _ was certainly akin to clouds parting. He could almost feel his heart swell in his chest, thundering in his ears and pushing tears from his eyes. 

He didn’t know if everyone got so emotional over something so… anticlimactic. There was no huge announcement, there was no movie moments and pictures, everyone just figured that it would happen eventually and welcomed the new normal with warm, expectant smiles. 

He’s not sure what’s quite expected of new love–it’s not consistent like a plush pillow or predictable like harsh concrete–and that’s why  Harley wonders if what he shares with  Peter Parker is real. He can’t see it, he can’t feel the warmth of  Peter ’s cheeks or the softness of his curls–and those curls  _ are _ soft, they must be–because more often than not  Peter is a username and a string of letters on a screen.

They make up names for each other and use those more than their real ones.  Peter slips into affectionate nicknames that make  Harley go red so easily that sometimes he wonders if he’s just misreading another similar but very different word. Sometimes he has to reread just to make sure his eyes didn’t play a cruel joke on him. No dictionary could describe how those nicknames make him feel, it's a wordless sort of sensation that scares him so bad that the only way he can respond is with a keysmash and a sliver of hope that at least that will convey everything he wants to at once. 

Nothing really changes from before they admitted to liking each other, either. Which is surprising, but also relieving, because both of them don’t know how to navigate something different. They’re willing to let it evolve if it needs to, and stagnate if it doesn’t. It’s so separate from the turbulent, viciously angry and volatile world they live in that sometimes  Harley needs to take a break from sitting in the eye of the storm to remind himself of what’s out there in comparison. 

They still insult each other like they used to, nothing truly harmful or malicious, and so much love and care is stuffed into every key as he types out the word _moron_ for the sixth time in the same hour that he hopes Peter Parker can taste it. He really hopes Peter Parker knows just how surreal it is, because he doesn’t seem to have a lot of that wordlessness outside of their talks. He wants to give that to him. He wants to make Peter happy so bad that it’s almost an ache, and even one joke that makes him laugh lifts tons of weights from his shoulders. He loves Peter’s laugh, even if he can’t really remember exactly how it sounds. 

And they don’t really talk that much. They don’t. At least, not by themselves. They’re both abhorrent at holding up a conversation, they’re awkward and fumbly with speaking, and they’re both completely terrified of sounding like they’re saying something they’re not. Voice calls would change all of that, but neither of them are loud enough outside of that screen to try. Insecurity clogs it like a drain. 

So they talk a lot like caterpillars trying to fly, with help from butterflies like MJ and Ned to keep them both afloat, and they’re fine like that. 

Harley worries sometimes, though. He worries what they have is a red star, a big one, one of those stars that burns hard and fast and implodes. Stars like that either make supernovas or black holes. He hates how scared he is of them. 

This star of theirs is precious because they’re both young and reckless and he’s been so careful handling this window that he’s not sure he could trust his own hands not to drop it if the weather gets worse, and yet it survives. 

There’s big talk about seeing each other, getting closer and closer until  Harley can really feel  Peter ’s skin and curls. They both know that’s unlikely, and yet it survives. 

They talk about braiding  Peter ’s hair and learning how to do makeup together and they argue over top bunk and bottom bunk like it’s a certainty that they’ll even end up in the same room when it’s really not. It’s really not and they both know that painfully so. 

And yet  Peter ’s hand in his still shows up when he sleeps. Oftentimes it’s the only thing  Harley remembers when he wakes up. It just leaves him yearning. Their star survives, it thrives, and it’s amazing.

But long distance relationships never work out, everyone tells him. Especially ones that your parents don’t know about. It’s always  _ Peter _ _ from online,  _ and  _ my friend in New York. _ Never  _ my boyfriend, who I’m afraid of disappointing, so that’s why my phone keeps reminding me of one specific day in July, Mom.  _ It’s never all that, because  Harley knows that one day it’ll either blow out the last of it’s spacedust into the universe with a shockwave powerful enough that it’ll create ripples in gravity itself and then cease, or it’ll collapse into a dark pit that even light can’t brighten. 

Harley worries, because every book and movie and piece of media on the subject treats the word  _ love  _ like a sacred word.  _ Love  _ is only used when the time is right, they say. It’s too powerful to throw around. 

But he and  Peter use it so often. 

They use it as a crutch when one of their ankles fall out, they use it after that playful mockery just to let the other know it’s not meant the way it’s read, they use it after one of them does something so incredibly stupid that the other is staring at their phone with their jaw open for nearly a minute before almost breaking down in hoarse sobs from laughing so hard. They use it and they throw it and it becomes just another word, and Harley Keener is so petrified that Peter Parker doesn’t mean it when he says it as if it weren’t just another word.

There’s no reason why he should think that. But he does. He just does, in that chilling, dreadful way he can’t describe. It paralyzes him, and he can’t just ask because then  Peter will get self-conscious about how he shows that he loves, and  Harley just can’t bring himself to do that to him. 

There’s no books about what they share. There’s no countless lists of cheesy movies where romance is declared with pink cheeks and fingers against a keyboard and the word  _ like  _ instead of lips on lips and fireworks. So his only conclusions are that it either doesn’t exist or that theirs is the only one. He knows one of them is correct, he so badly wants the latter to be it. The former feels like his heart is being pulled from his chest, so he prefers not to think about it. He can’t describe the type of pain it brings, so he hides from it. 

But  Harley quickly notices that this isn’t a giant star. They’ve been burning for a year, maybe not as brightly and not as brilliantly as some other stars, but they’re both content holding hands from miles away and glowing softly in the dead abyss of space. There’s nothing that tells  Harley they’ll implode or collapse and he finds solace in the prospect that maybe, one day if this does die, it’ll die like the sun after so many eons of nurturing life. Maybe it’ll inflate so large it’ll consume the Earth, and then it’ll shed and shrink, but never disappear. A white dwarf. 

White dwarfs are as immortal as stars get. 

And maybe  Harley Keener runs from things he can’t describe immediately. Maybe he begs for more time so he can put into words exactly how he’s feeling and why. Maybe he’s so scared of little things like this that he’d rather hide. Maybe it feels stupid in the way that only something exhilerating can feel. But  Harley Keener also knows this is real because the anniversary is on the calendar, the smile is on his face, and he knows if it wasn’t real then he wouldn’t be so scared. 

He was never afraid of the dark as a child because he knew monsters weren’t real. He wouldn’t be terrified of love if he didn’t actually feel it grow, thrive,  _ exist  _ in his hands as he hit out a three-letter addendum to his previous declaration that  Peter was a moron. 

He wouldn’t wait anxiously for  Peter ’s reply. 

He wouldn’t bite the inside of his cheek, blush, and melt into his office chair when it was readily reciprocated with the same beautiful butterfly kiss that he’d previously spent a year memorizing. 

_ ilyt  _ _ 💙 _

Even though the evidence is there,  Harley Keener will never stop wondering if  Peter Parker is real until he can touch him.  But that doesn’t quite scare him anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> harass me on tumblr ---> @viviixen


End file.
